The Tides of Life
by Scribbler
Summary: He has never been good with words, but that's okay, because actions really do speak louder when they're from the heart. Cloud/Aerith


**Disclaimer****:** Wordlessly not mine

**A/N****:** Inspired by a scene in the Lisa Scottoline novel _Final Appeal_, and originally written for the prompt 'watch' over in the KH Drabble Community (although this is the extended version).

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_**The Tides of Life**_

© Scribbler, March 2009.

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_I am watching your chest rise and fall like the tides of my life. _-- Ani Difranco

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It was the glass of water that did it.

He wasn't good at words. He never had been, but in the last few years he'd descended from curt remarks to monosyllables, and then just grunts. Sometimes someone could coax a proper sentence from him, but mostly he communicated through penetrating stares and indistinct mumbles. He spoke through action: the swing of his sword, the placement of his feet, the way the muscles in his arms and legs tightened, those were how he made his meaning clear.

But in a group where words were paramount, not everyone understood that. Yuffie thought he was just being moody, but words cascaded from Yuffie's mouth like water over pebbles, never stopping, always rushing merrily even when people on the bank threw rocks in. Yuffie just flowed over and around problems, so busy talking them into submission that any other approach was swept away on the current of her personality.

Tifa was better, though she still relied on words. She wanted to understand, so she asked questions: Where are you going now? Why won't you let me help you? Why are you so unhappy? What can I do to make things better? She didn't get many answers, but that didn't stop her asking.

Leon was a man of few words, but he was still a man of words. He gave orders and expected them to be followed. He, more than anyone, understood the lexicon of combat with a blade – parry, thrust, stab – but the dirtier side of battle – eye-gouge, knee-break, gut-rip – was a language he'd only ever half-learned. Though he'd never admit it, Leon still believed in the nobility of fighting for what was right. He needed a cause to make him feel like he was still human. He cared about people and tried to ensure their safety by shouting on and off the battlefield because they needed to be versions of himself to survive.

Cid's words were usually blue, scattered through his speech like petals after a gale through a cherry tree – although he'd cuss you out right back to their Great-Great-Grandpappy for saying so. Cid grumbled and griped at every opportunity, even when nobody was listening. It was his coping mechanism. Some people talked about how they could win and how, as long as they stuck together, nothing could beat them. Cid was a pessimist through and through. Every silver lining had a cloud around it for him. You could count on him in a crisis, but you knew that when you called on Cid you were calling on enough swearing to make a sailor blush – just as you knew that when you called on Merlin he'd frost every conversation with enough arcane jargon to make your eyes roll back in your head with boredom.

Words suffused around Traverse Town, and then around Hollow Bastion: advice on how to rebuild, commands for establishing defences, problem-solving when Sora arrived, and celebrations when the tide finally seemed to turn. They needed words; to survive, to reassure and comfort, to keep their identities, and to stay connected with those around them.

Except _he_ didn't. He _talked_, but didn't _need_ words the way everyone else did. More of what he meant was in what he _didn't _say. Even more came through his eyes, though they often seemed so angry and sad it was shocking to rediscover they could show anything else. You could tell who was precious to him by who he was watching when they went into battle.

When she awoke, exhaustion from the latest battle still clinging like cobwebs, he was in the chair next to her bed. The stains on his clothes and face said he'd been there all night, watching her. His eyes held some ill-defined emotion, but he didn't speak. Others would've asked how she was, or said she was stupid for using so much energy, but he kept silent.

He held out a glass of water.

He'd known her mouth would be dry. It was such a simple gesture, but it signified so much that her heart actually felt like it'd swapped sides in her chest. She took the glass wordlessly, because there wasn't any need for her to speak. His offer and her acceptance was more than he could reduce to words.

She looked at her wobbly reflection and, despite being so tired it felt like she'd been scoured through with broken glass, she smiled and thought the words they couldn't say.

_I love you too._

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_**Fin. **_

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End file.
